


Mr. Barton's Safe House

by Rina (rinadoll)



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton's Farm, Clint Has Dreams Too You Know, Community: picfor1000, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/pseuds/Rina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who would look for him in Iowa? No one who had any background info on him.</p><p>And yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Barton's Safe House

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this year's Picture is Worth 1000 Words challenge--get a pic, write 1000 words inspired by it. 
> 
> My picture was a [covered bridge](https://www.flickr.com/photos/65839294@N03/8591475233), which immediately brought to mind two things: one of the funniest scenes with Cary Grant in Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House and Clint being in charge of the driving with disastrous results. And fixing the MCU Iowa Farmhouse. Thus, this.

Clint was on a roll. He eschewed maps and gps assistance in favor of memory and a superior sense of direction. Kate despaired, Phil was resigned, but Clint was on a roll.

He’d gotten them from New York to Iowa perfectly fine, and now they were getting close to their destination. Kate and Phil were passed out, Phil next to him, Kate snuggled to Lucky in the back.

He approached the covered bridge and confidently drove through and took the left fork after. He knew this bridge. Two miles to Sweet Water. He was on a roll.

An hour later, he banged his head against his seat as he approached the bridge--Sweet Water, 2 mi--for the third time. “Aww, bridge,” he whined. 

“Why are we stopped?” Kate asked sleepily.

“Bridge etiquette,” Clint said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “Go back to sleep, Katie.”

“Mmm. You’re supposed to go right here, you know,” she said, patting the map she’d bought after her phone lost signal the third time.

“I’m great at directions,” he reminded her, trying left again. “Sleep, girlie-girl. I’ve got this.”

Her answering sound indicated disbelief, but her breathing slowed.

Clint drove, the darkness reminding him of the nights spent moving on with the circus. It was easy to feel like he’d slipped back in time in these Iowa backroads, even the snores of his fellow riders feeding the memories. He’d turn on the radio for something current if it wouldn’t disturb Phil.

He was distracted and that was the only reason they ended up back at the damned covered bridge.

“How’s the driving going?” Phil asked, startled awake.

“Doin’ fine,” Clint said, hiding his gritted teeth admirably.

“But we’re stopped?” 

“Bridge etiquette,” Clint said.

“I see.” Phil paused. “Do you know which way to go, Clint?”

“Of course,” Clint said. “Any fool knows you turn right.”

Kate gave a sleepy cheer from the backseat as they took the right fork.

\---------------  
Clint wouldn’t let Phil or Kate drive. There was no real reason why, except maybe that Iowa still felt like his. Which was probably the reason he had his very own off the grid safe house in the farm belt, one that wasn’t even in Shield databases. Who would look for him in Iowa? No one who had any background info on him.

He’d picked the big, rambling farmhouse because it was the opposite of the houses he’d grown up in. It had given him great pleasure to buy a house his father never could have dreamed of even renting. It was the type of farmhouse you aspired to. The type that looked like an old postcard, with big happy families. You could practically hear barking dogs and laughter just looking at it.

This was his first time bringing anyone back with him and as much as he hated the state, he wanted them to like his little part of it.

The farm was on the outskirts of the nearest town, where they stopped for breakfast and groceries. It wasn’t where he and Barney’d grown up, but it had the same look and feel. Made him itchy just being there, and he couldn’t wait to get to his place.

But hmmm.

“It’s a bit more rundown than I was picturing,” Phil said neutrally.

Clint cocked his head. Yeah. “Guess it’s been longer than I thought since I was here.” He tried to think back. Not 2012. 2014, maybe. “Since before Lucky,” he said, confident of that, at least. 

“Working vacation it is,” Kate said, clapping her hands and Lucky woofed.

“I’ll make the lists,” Phil said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s figure out the priorities.”

He and Kate headed back to the car, and Clint made his way to the porch, Lucky shadowing him. So much for his farmhouse. He kicked at the doorframe and flinched. 

“Aw, wood, no,” he said, disgusted. More solid than it looked.

\---------------  
The whole place was more solid than it looked, it seemed. Phil seemed pleased with the quality of everything, including the furniture left behind, going on and on about things built to last. Evidently, he had a thing for home improvement that he, as he said, never got to indulge.

Clint tried not to judge.

His list of chores were mostly outside, at least. He didn’t have much experience with power tools, but he was getting there. 

He had already finished gleefully attacking kindling, less gleefully reattaching the railings (an unplanned step in stabilizing them) and was mowing when he realized Phil was waving his hands next to him.

“Sorry,” he said, slowing. “Noise was bothering me.”

“No problem,” Phil said, signing as he spoke. “Kate and I finished the living room. Come see it.”

Clint fished for the baggie with his aides as he followed Phil in. The porch already looked better, and the hallway gleamed. 

Kate and Lucky were waiting in the living room. “Ta da!” she said, beaming. “Way better, right?” 

He looked around. Kate had put up a backup bow and a map, with some purple blankets and pillows. And---

“What are those?” He made his way towards the mantle, lined with photos. The Hawkeyes, him and Nat, him and Phil, Kate and America, and, center place, a big one of the four of them. He recognized it as one America had taken on his roof after a cookout.

“We’ll have to lock them away when we’re gone, of course,” Phil said, resting his arm around Clint. “But while we’re here, we thought they’d make it feel like a real home.”

Clint didn’t really like the tickly feeling in his throat, but he nodded anyway. 

\---------------  
After dinner, Clint stepped out on the porch, beer in hand. Lucky raced around the front yard, barking his fool head off as Katie teased him with sticks and treats and Phil called encouragement alternated between Kate and the dog. 

His partner, his protege/platonic soulmate and his dog. His family. New memories for the win.


End file.
